


Just The Two of Us

by akielon



Series: What Happens Next [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Ascension, Fluff and Smut, M/M, guess what the surprise is, this is set right after the adventures of charls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akielon/pseuds/akielon
Summary: The day of Laurent’s Ascension has finally arrived, and Damen can barely contain his heart inside his chest. Afterwards, they celebrate together, just the two of them. But what Damen doesn’t know is that Laurent has a plan, and it involves hiding in plain sight, golden artisans, empty fortresses, and a surprise.





	Just The Two of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my contribution to the Capri Big Bang, and I'm actually? Kind of proud of it?  
> A world of thanks to my beta [@ieatkitcat](http://ieatkitcat.tumblr.com/), who managed to make sense of my punctuation mess, and to [@mahoubambi](https://mahoubambi.tumblr.com/), who created such beautiful illustrations for this fic! You can check them out [here](https://mahoubambi.tumblr.com/post/165536472412/part-%C2%BD-captive-prince-big-bang-the-audience) and [here](https://mahoubambi.tumblr.com/post/165536633817/part-22-captive-prince-big-bang-first-he)!

It was unbearably warm in the throne room. No wonder, with the number of people that were crammed into a single, poorly ventilated place. It didn’t help that Delpha was currently going through its dry season, crops dying due to the unwavering heat. Damen didn’t know how some of the Veretian nobles present weren’t fainting due to a heat stroke, underneath layers upon layers of fine lace and embroidery.

The rest of the Veretians in the room weren’t dressed as traditionally, certainly adopting the new clothing trend: hues of red mixed with tones of blue, heavier fabrics switched for lighter ones. The Veretians weren’t the only ones, though. Akielon nobility proudly displayed the sleeves on their chitons and the gold-threaded embellishments in their tunics. Damen smiled; it was a small change, but a change in the right direction.

Damen shifted in his throne, careful not to dislodge the cape that hung from his shoulders. One wrong move and that thing would suffocate him. He hated having to wear his royal garments.

In fact, Damen hated having to do anything royal at all. He hated having to sit above everyone else, on a dais of his own, a crown of laurels preventing him from amicably clapping Nikandros on the shoulder and joining the conversation he was having with Jord and Pallas. Instead, Damen sat on one of two twin thrones, looking over the room with what he hoped was a regal posture.

Not for the first time, Damen stifled a yawn. Both he and Laurent had been up since dawn; Laurent making sure everything was in place, Damen making sure Laurent was too. To the unknowing eye, Laurent looked calm, but Damen saw right through him. He was nervous. Damen could see it in the slight brusqueness of his voice and the too-hard clenching of his fists. 

Suddenly a flute-player made herself heard, causing Damen to look up. Soon after, the rest of the musicians followed along, composing a harmony so very Veretian and so very beautiful. In Akielos, music was merely a background for poetry, simple and unassuming. He should have figured in Vere they would take it to a whole new level - Veretians had a tendency for grandeur.

The audience turned in their seats. Damen followed their eyes, looking over at the entrance. And there he was, glowing against the blue and gold livery that adorned the room. Dressed in ivory and more gold, he looked like the starburst Prince - no, King - he was. The craftsmanship of his clothes unrivaled by none other in the room apart from perhaps Damen’s. His golden head was bare of any adornment, at least for now. He looked beautiful. He was beautiful.  _ Laurent, sixth of his name _ .

The room grew quiet; no one dared speak over the melody, over the seriousness of the situation. Everyone was entranced by the golden man walking towards his rightful throne. Towards Damen.

He was halfway across the room when they locked eyes. Even from afar, Damen could see that Laurent was ecstatic. This was what he had worked so hard for. This is what he never let himself hope for. _ You deserve this _ , Damen wanted to say.  _ You look mesmerizing _ , as well.

He got up to help Laurent step onto the dais, according to protocol. He laced his fingers with Laurent’s, not according to protocol. Damen half-expected Laurent to pull back his hand as they sat down, but he didn’t. It was a true testament to Laurent’s good mood that their hands remained linked between their thrones - for the whole world to see - matching gold cuffs on each wrist.

If there were rumours before, now there was no contesting it.

One of the Veretian Councillors was speaking. Damen didn’t hear him. He was too busy looking at Laurent. Too busy noticing the small flush that decorated the top of his cheeks. Too busy staring, and then not staring, because he was a King and he needed to behave. 

Herode was speaking now. After him, Damen is supposed to deliver a speech in Laurent’s honour. For weeks, he had sat at a desk and tried to write something and for weeks all he got was dry ink and blank paper. He didn’t have Laurent’s gift for words, but Damen had always been a man of the moment.

It was his turn now. He got up and cleared his throat. 

“I have not known Laurent for long,” Damen started, his voice carrying across the hall. “I did not know him when we met at Arles. I did not know him when we flew across rooftops in Nesson-Eloy. Or when we stupidly rode alone to Vask.” The audience laughed in good humour. “But I came to know him,” he looked at Laurent. 

He saw cold, closed off Laurent with so much hate in his eyes. He saw Laurent laughing for the first time, their chests pressed together on a too-small balcony. He saw Laurent in moonlight, a fireplace light dancing across his skin. He saw Laurent as bells ring around them.

“I came to know his strength. His mind. His honesty.”  _ His beauty, his brilliancy, his softness _ . He had to be blind before to not notice it.

He looked over at the crowd. “He is the reason we stand here today - Akielos and Vere, united. He fought for this, for you,” he glanced back at Laurent. _ For me _ , he wanted to add.

“I did not know him. But I know him now. He is a good man,” he smiled at Laurent, revelling in the mesmerising smile he got in return. “He will be a good King.”

The hall erupted in a deafening cheer, but Damen’s focus was on Laurent. Damen was handed a golden crown to match Vere’s golden new King. It was surprisingly simple, with few ornamentations and precious stones. It had some weight in Damen’s hands, but not enough to make it unwearable. 

He stepped in front of Laurent, holding the crown above his head. They didn’t move their eyes away from each other as Damen lowered it down, until it rested perfectly against the strands of Laurent’s soft hair. 

“Long live Laurent, sixth of his name, King of Vere!” A cry broke out. Soon, Marlas was nothing but shouts of joy, announcing the new King.

“Long live Laurent,” Damen said to Laurent, his voice low and private, “King of Vere.”

Laurent’s smile lit up the room.

 

*

 

“What is Jeurre wearing,” Damen muttered at the sight of the man.

He and Laurent were still sitting in the raised dais, as is customary in these sorts of events. Royalty need to make themselves seen in order to be adored. It also meant Damen had to greet every single noble, merchant and ambassador from four different lands with a smile constantly plastered on his face.

“The new trend in Arles.”

Damen raised an eyebrow at that. The old Councillor was wearing what looked like a chiton skirt and a Veretian-style jacket. His legs were so unbearably white, Damen didn’t know how someone hadn’t been blinded yet.

He glanced sideways at Laurent and wonder how he did it. It had been a good few hours since he was crowned, and he hadn’t stopped talking to people. He greeted everyone by their names, Akielon and Veretian alike, and he always seemed to actually know them, offering small questions that showed he cared, that he listened. It made them feel acknowledged, that a King knew who they were. Damen smiled to himself; Laurent was going to be a wonderful King.

In a rare lull of visitors, Damen watched Laurent; watched him discreetly stretch his shoulders muscles, watched him slowly recharge his energy for the next round of curious subjects. For a moment, with his eyes closed, Laurent looked like one of the marble statues in the gardens of Isthima. The kind that would take a fortune to commission and a lifetime to get right. 

“You’re staring,” Laurent said, amusement in his voice, his eyes still closed.

“Of course I am,” Damen smiled, his heart as light as a feather. 

Damen wanted to say more, but the next round of well-wishers interrupted them. Letting Laurent handle it, he observed the festivities in front of him.

Servants had made quick work of rearranging the room, pushing the chairs to the outskirts of the room, leaving the middle open for dancing and playing. Trays filled with both Akielon and Veretian delicacies constantly flowed from the kitchens. Attentive cup bearers made sure everyone had their wine topped off. Akielons mingled with Veretians, until not even Damen could tell who came from where. Laurent hadn’t overlooked a single detail of his Ascension, and everything was perfect. As expected.

He could see Makedon cornering Jord, holding a bottle Damen knew was his famous griva. Across the room, Torveld was the only one of the Patran delegation that remained seated, deep in conversation with Erasmus, the former slave. Pallas and Lazar were nowhere to be seen.

A beautiful woman with brown hair came to refill his cup, but Damen put a hand out to stop her. If Laurent wasn’t drinking, neither would he. 

“Can you bring me some sweetmeats?” Damen was still not used to voicing his requests as commands.

“Yes, Exalted,” the servant bowed and retreated. Shortly enough, Damen had a whole platter of the confections made out of honey and crushed up nuts. 

“You really took a liking to those,” Laurent pointed out.

Damen nodded, holding one out for Laurent to take. The familiarity of the situation wasn’t lost on him. It felt like forever ago when Laurent had held the same treat before him, daring him to disobey. Both of them had been different then.

Laurent didn’t move his blue eyes from Damen’s as he slowly leaned forward. He didn’t stop his lips from touching Damen’s fingers as he took the treat in his mouth. With his gaze still trained on Damen, he licked the sugar off of his lips, his tongue sweeping slowly. 

The whole room was reduced to the two of them. Almost in a trance, Damen brought sweetmeat after sweetmeat to Laurent, watching them disappear behind those plump lips. They didn’t speak a word, their eyes not shifting from each other’s. The tension between them was tangible.

Someone cleared their throat. Damen didn’t recognise them. It was like a spell had been lifted from Laurent: he straightened himself in his seat and rearranged his features to put forth his most regal face. Damen tried not to resent the old woman in front of them. 

One thing was certain, he could not wait until he caught Laurent alone.

 

*

 

The inside of the King’s chamber in Marlas was much like the inside of any royal chamber in any fort along the border. It was of Veretian style, with its intricate patterns carved into pure, white stone and its high ceilings. Most of the tapestries that adorned the room had been torn and burnt down when Delfeur became Delpha, but that didn’t take away from the beauty of the room.

What did was the noticeable absence of a newly crowned King. 

On their way back to their chambers, Laurent had been intercepted by Vannes and a committee of merchants. He told Damen to go on ahead without him. He did. And now he was sitting by himself in these vast, empty chambers, with a book in his hands he wasn’t reading and a huge, soft bed he wasn’t enjoying.

Sighing, Damen set the book down, not even bothering to mark the page he was on. He hadn’t made much progress anyway; his mind kept getting stuck and he kept reading the same sentence over and over again.

It was starting to get dark outside and even though it was a servant’s task, he lit the candles placed all around the room. It gave him something to do, and he had always enjoyed watching the sporadic sway of a candle flame. 

That’s how Laurent found him - lighting candles in the dark.

“You do know that even though slavery is banned now, servants still exist?” Damen smiled at the joking voice. 

“I am not above performing menial tasks,” he returned, looking as Laurent carefully placed his golden crown atop a dresser.

“A capable man.” Laurent undid the laces at his wrists.

Damen moved up to help. Laurent turned around, offering the tight-laced ties at his back. Once the jacket was gone, Damen didn’t resist the temptation to place a single kiss on the back of Laurent’s neck. He nuzzled the short hairs there, encircling Laurent’s waist with his arms. 

“Comfortable?” Laurent’s voice was light and pleasant.

Laughing, Damen relinquished his hold a bit, allowing for Laurent to turn in his arms. 

At this distance, Damen could take notice of all the little things that made Laurent breathtakingly handsome: the pale lashes that guarded bluer than blue eyes, the sweet colour of his lips, the faint mole right in the corner of his left eye. Damen’s fingers traced Laurent’s spine over his shirt. In response, Laurent rested his hand directly above Damen’s heart, the other one wandering off to find a perch in Damen’s broad shoulders.

“Does it feel different?” Damen asked, “To be King?” 

Laurent considered him, his thumb running back and forth over Damen’s collarbone. 

“I wanted it to,” he admitted, his voice honest.

Damen understood. Perhaps it had been that he was still recovering from Kastor’s betrayal - and a knife wound to the stomach - but his coronation had been underwhelming. He expected the crown to change something in him, to make the ground beneath him shake, to cause epiphanies and miracles. But the ground did not shake; he had not a moment of pure genius. He was still Damen. Perhaps that was the miracle.

“I think we have carried the burden of our crowns all our lives,” Damen said. “There’s no difference to feel.”

He brushed a stray lock of Laurent’s silk hair back behind his ear, delighting in the softness of his smooth, pale skin. Damen’s fingers kept moving, past Laurent’s jaw, over his graceful neck, until they pushed aside the collar of his ivory shirt, exposing Laurent’s collarbone. Damen leaned down to leave a trail of small, wet kisses, starting at Laurent’s pulse point and slowly getting to his shoulder. 

Placing one final kiss over Laurent’s shoulder, he straightened back up, glancing at his face. The vivid look in Laurent’s eyes and the flushness of his cheeks told him Laurent had enjoyed it. Damen made a mental note to ask Laurent’s thoughts on love marks later.

Surprising him a little, Laurent caressed Damen’s cheek wordlessly, cradling his jaw in his palm. Damen leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. He opened them again, as he felt lips pressing against his skin. It was barely there, a mere touch right at the tip of his collarbone, but it sparked something in Damen’s core. He felt as if lightning was coursing through his body.

“Kiss me,” he found himself saying, a bit too quiet, a bit too loud. -

Laurent indulged him, bringing himself closer and closer and dragging Damen’s head down until they finally met, their lips moving in synch. He would never tire of kissing Laurent. Each time it left him dazed and disoriented, as if Laurent’s lips were a drug and he was hooked on the feeling. 

It didn’t take long until his heart was chasing itself and his blood was pooling at his center. Damen craved for more; he craved to give more. 

He pulled their lips apart, and his heart jumped at the sight of Laurent licking his lips and how out of focus his eyes were. He needed to remove Laurent from his shirt.

“Come,” Damen asked, guiding them to the huge bed in the center of the room. 

Laurent pushed his shoulders until Damen was sitting, his hands grasping the linen sheets as he watched Laurent’s graceful hands untie the laces of his own shirt. He was practical about it, not slowing down his movements for a better show like a slave might, but to Damen the moment was as intimate as it could possibly be. 

Laurent stepped out of his boots and pants in one efficient move, leaving him in an ivory-coloured shirt that barely covered his most private parts. The sight of those long, muscular legs made Damen’s mouth water.

Before he could move, before he could think, Laurent straddled him, hooking his legs behind Damen’s back. Laurent was taller than him like this. Laurent liked it like that. Damen liked that Laurent liked it.

Damen’s fingers sneaked their way underneath the hem of Laurent’s shirt, finding the smooth skin of Laurent’s back. In turn, Laurent tugged at Damen’s curls, pulling him closer, until their mouths crashed like the ocean on a shore. They kissed, they broke to breathe, and they kissed again. Damen grew hard at the small noises Laurent allowed himself to make; at the involuntary movements of Laurent’s hips, grinding them closer together; at the taste and feel of Laurent’s tongue. It was unbearable - Damen wanted more with such fervency, he thought he would go mad. He wanted Laurent like his body was water and Damen was stuck in a desert.

Not for the first time, Damen thanked whoever had invented chitons. With half a mind, he undid the pin at his shoulder, yanking the fabric away from his body. Laurent lifted himself slightly to facilitate the action. Damen tugged at Laurent’s shirt next, pulling it up and off of his beautiful, pale body. Laurent’s nipples were so deliciously pink and raised, Damen couldn’t resist the temptation to draw one of them into his mouth. He licked and nibbled until he heard those telltale groans he so liked. With one final kiss, Damen pulled away to stare at Laurent’s face.

Damen was painstakingly hard already, but he felt one more rush of blood course through him as he glanced at his lover. Laurent’s hair was messier than he ever let it be, his skin glistened with sweat, and his lips rosy and wet from their kissing. Damen loved him like this.

“You’ve stared at me all day, today.” Laurent commented, his voice a little out of breath, something that amused Damen.

“You looked beautiful today,” Damen said. “Couldn’t help it.”

“People will start thinking I have you on a leash,” Laurent brushed Damen’s locks away from his face.

“You did, once.”

“I did,” Laurent brushed his finger over Damen’s nipples, the touch barely there. “I also had you wear clamps.”

With everything that had happened, Damen hadn’t given much thought to the lesser things Laurent had done to him. But now that he did, he realised. 

“You requested for those specifically, didn’t you,” Damen accused, his eyes narrowing.

Laurent simply laughed, which prompted Damen to lift him and push him flat on the bed, Damen’s hands on his wrists, pinning him in place. Damen pretended to be mad, but he couldn’t wipe off the grin he had on his face.

“They should be part of your ensemble,” Laurent taunted, a playful smile on his lips. “I will have words with Charls; it will be the new fashion.”

Damen couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, so instead he buried his face in the crook of Laurent’s neck. He spoke from where he was, his voice muffled.

“It is fortunate then, that Makedon usually does not adhere to trends.” He could feel the reverberations from Laurent’s laugh through his skin.

“I thought you were trying to fuck me, Damianos,” Laurent’s words sent shivers down his spine, “why would you bring that old man up?”

Damen moved his head, their noses practically touching. Laurent’s blue eyes looked wild and devious. It kindled a fire inside him.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Damen asked, his voice trapped in the small space between them.

Laurent lifted his hips in lieu of a response, getting the message across just as well. Damen lowered himself, his lips a hair’s breadth away from Laurent’s. He left them there, waiting for Laurent to take the leap. 

Damen got pulled down by his neck, Laurent’s mouth tasting him once anew, as his hands trailed Damen’s body. They roamed from Damen’s wide shoulders, over his hard pecs and down his taut abdomen. Soon, they were reaching sensitive territory. Damen released a shuddering breath as Laurent’s hands found him, stroking the beads of his excitement around. Wanting to bring pleasure to Laurent as well, Damen’s lips found the white expanse of Laurent’s neck, nibbling and biting their way from Laurent’s jaw to his collarbone. On Laurent’s pulse point, Damen bit a bit harder, sucking on the small bruise, trying to ease the pain a bit. 

In front of Damen’s eyes, the overenthusiastic bite flourished into a bruise, small enough that Laurent wouldn’t get in trouble for it, but big enough that Damen might. He liked it; almost as much as he liked the gold cuff that wrapped Laurent’s left wrist. Laurent was his. They were each other’s.

Damen grabbed both of Laurent’s hands - one followed by gold, one not - and pinned them above Laurent’s head. At the look he received, Damen simply smiled, placing a quick peck in Laurent’s pink lips.

Now it was his time to explore, his hands tracing and mapping every inch of skin he saw in front of him. His lips followed his hands; Damen liked how he could feel the small shudders he caused. He licked a path from chest to navel to something more intimate and warm. He took Laurent in his mouth, his hands on Laurent’s thighs, spreading them wide and holding them in place. Damen enjoyed this. He had always enjoyed pleasuring a lover with his mouth, but Laurent’s reactions made it so much sweeter. Damen could feel Laurent’s thighs quiver with the effort of staying still under his fingertips. Damen hollowed his cheeks as he rose to kiss the head, his tongue swirling around as he looked at Laurent. He enjoyed doing this - his bulging arousal more than enough proof of it - but he enjoyed seeing the effect it had on Laurent more. His golden head was thrown back into the pillows, his mouth agape and panting, an arm flung across his eyes to provide some sense of privacy. He looked beautiful.

With one final lick, Damen reached for the small table next to the bed, where a basket with all kinds of oils sat. He picked one up, removing the cork with his teeth and coating his fingers with the oil. He climbed back up on the bed, Laurent’s heavy eyes on him the whole time, and he placed the bottle next to him. 

Damen placed a sloppy kiss on the trail of fine hairs that ran from Laurent’s belly button to his cock. They were darker than the gold of Laurent’s head. Damen bit and nibbled at Laurent’s thighs, his forefinger circling the entrance to Laurent’s body. He prodded inside cautiously, looking for any signs of discomfort. He saw none. Damen pressed on, preparing Laurent. One finger was replaced by two, and then three, until Laurent’s shivers and sharp breaths came more frequent and louder. 

“I,” said Laurent, his voice catching itself, “I want it.”

Damen removed his fingers, a rush of sensation coming to his chest at the almost pained noise Laurent made. He grabbed Laurent’s arm, gently removing it from his face. They stared at each other, Damen’s half-forgotten arousal throbbing at the open look of Laurent’s face. Desire was written all across his features, and for once, Laurent didn’t try to mask it.

“Want what?” Damen asked, his voice husky.

Damen felt hot and unstable as he coated himself with oil, as he lowered himself down until his elbows were on the sides of Laurent’s face, as he felt the controlled rise and fall of Laurent’s chest against his own. This morning, Laurent’s face had been regal and passive, sparing only a few smiles in Damen’s direction. Now, he was dishevelled and wild, his cock rubbing itself against Damen’s stomach. The contrast was breathtaking, and the knowledge that Damen was the only one allowed to see this - to see Laurent like this, so open and so true - had his heart soaring.

“I want you,” said Laurent, “I want you, Damianos.”

He thought of the gardens in Arles, he thought of Ravenel, he thought of  Karthas. He thought of the first time they made love, how all-encompassing it had been. He thought of where they began - two strangers in opposite sides of a chess board - and where they stood now: together, holding the center.

_ My throne for your throne _ . My heart for yours. It was a promise Damen had made and kept.

Damen slid inside. It was so warm and so deliriously pleasurable, he thought his heart might give out. He pushed forward, fraction by fraction, until his cock was completely buried inside Laurent. 

They were still for a moment, Damen above and Laurent below, both breathing and adjusting to each other. Moving felt like too much--but not moving was insufferable. Ever so slowly, Damen slid out until his tip was barely touching Laurent, and then made his way back at the same pace, until his length was fully seated again. It felt heavy and unreal, like being deep underwater and still being able to breathe. He kept going, falling into a rhythm of slow and profound thrusts, delighting in the small moans he got in response. With the smoothness that comes from practice, Damen angled himself just right, hitting that spot deep inside Laurent.

“Damen,” Laurent gasped, grabbing his shoulders, his nails digging deep into Damen’s brown skin. 

Laurent’s eyes were closed. Damen wanted them open; he wanted to see the blue he so loved.

“Look at me,” his voice was rough with desire, but his touch was gentle. He coaxed Laurent, stroking him so agonizingly slow his fingers were barely moving. Laurent squirmed underneath him, arching his back into Damen, causing him to drive deeper and deeper.

Laurent’s eyes met his. In that moment, Damen’s whole body shook. He could feel them both at the brink, both walking on a straight wire like Patran acrobats, waiting for the plunge. Heat was building up in his core, threatening to spill over like a tidal wave. His mind ran wild, thinking of everything and nothing. Wooden swords, gold paint, chains, sawdust and silk sheets.  _ I know who you are _ . He reached for Laurent’s hand, his grasp desperate and hard.

Distantly, as if it was happening to someone else, he felt something cold spread over his abdomen. With half a mind, he realised Laurent had come, but Damen could not stop to savour it. The heat was devouring him, and salvation resided inside. His movements became erratic, his thrusts heavier and faster-paced. And as he heard his name in Laurent’s sweet voice -  _ Damianos _ \- he took the plunge and emptied inside.

 

*

 

Damen’s muscles felt clumsy and lethargic - the way they always felt after a good roll-around session with a lover - and all he wanted to do was lay in bed with Laurent nestled in his arms. Even so, he got up, heading towards the small bathroom, meaning to clean himself and give Laurent a few moments to gather his thoughts. 

Damen splashed his face with some water from a basin, hoping it would keep his post-coital sluggishness at bay. He dried his face and then wiped his stomach clean, before it got a chance to get sticky and too messy. Damen didn’t mind, but he knew Laurent did.

He walked back into the room, holding out a fresh towel to Laurent, watching as he cleaned himself, his movements efficient and precise. When handed back the towel, Damen simply rolled it into a ball and threw it as far as he could, in the general direction of the bathroom. Mid-arc, the small ball unravelled itself, floating to the ground a few meters from the entrance to the bathroom. 

“You light your own candles, but will not be bothered to walk a short distance to dispose of a dirty towel,” Laurent remarked, settling himself into a burrow of soft, feather pillows. 

Damen simply shrugged. He crawled on the bed, looking at the glory that was post-sex Laurent. With his tousled hair, and his red and glossy lips, Laurent looked like he was glowing. There was this airiness to him, as if the plagues that haunted him and suffocated him left him be for a bit. For now, he was all smiles and round edges. Smiling, Damen placed a small kiss in Laurent’s lips - because he could - and laid down, using Laurent’s thigh as a headrest. 

Laurent’s fingers danced their way into Damen’s hair, massaging his scalp with small circling motions. Damen tipped his head back, giving Laurent better access. He loved these soft moments, filled with familiar silence, the kind that doesn’t demand anything. 

It was in a state of perfect comfort and peace that Damen closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, distantly aware of the page-turning sounds above him. After the trial, during the month Damen was confined to his bed, Laurent had developed the skill of reading with one hand, as the other petted Damen’s curls. Sometimes, Laurent read to him and sometimes not. It was a precious moment to Damen, regardless.

He hadn’t really realised how comfortable he and Laurent had grown around each other. It was the looks of poorly-concealed shock Damen got when he grabbed Laurent’s hand and placed a kiss atop it - and the small smile he got in response - that reminded him of it. Random acts of affection like that were commonplace to the two of them. Despite everything, Laurent was still seen as cold and detached, frigid even. Laurent, whose eyebrows bunched up and formed lines between them when he was reading. Laurent, who had performed a magic trick to appease a child. Laurent, the truest man Damen knew.

Fortunately, outside both royal courts, the people loved their starburst King. He was good to them, he was the brother of their beloved Auguste, and he was just - of course they would. Laurent’s Ascension had had a record attendance: from stuck-up merchants and courtiers to common folk and artisans. Everyone wanted to see the golden King. Everyone wanted to see the twin thrones. Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos - partners in rebellion and rumoured lovers - united at last.

The streets of Marlas had been filled, with lines of people wanting to see their Kings stretched as far as the eye could see. Damen never liked being paraded around, but he had made an effort. It was for Laurent after all. And it was always amusing to meet his subjects: some of them stood out in their peculiarity like a sore thumb. Like the Lady that had insisted to bring her cat with her to meet Laurent. Like the small boy, no more than ten years of age, that begged for them to kiss the head of his baby sister. Like Charls. 

“We gave Charls quite a shock today,” Damen laughed, reminiscing in the memory. “Still can’t believe he did not figure out who I was - I’m not particularly subtle.” 

Laurent didn’t pause in his reading, “Charls is as honest as he is blind.”

“And as he is loyal. The man would do anything for you,” Damen stated. It was a simple truth.

A moment went past, then two. Damen felt himself drift closer and closer to sleep. Half-asleep, Damen felt Laurent hold his head gently, sliding his leg from beneath Damen, and replacing it with a pillow. After, Laurent curled up against him, his head fitting in the nook between Damen’s neck and his shoulder, right atop the scar that marred his skin there.

Damen felt drowsy and his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. Then, he heard, “As would you.” 

It took a bit for his tired brain to remember the conversation they were having. “Of course,” he paused for a yawn. “I gave you my heart, after all.”

In the quiet, Damen surrendered to sleep at last, missing Laurent’s voice whispering into the night. 

“Likewise.”

 

*

 

First, came the feeling of the sun touching his face, the heat familiar and welcomed. Then, came the awareness - being awake but not wanting to wake up. Damen kept his eyes closed, basking in the remnants of a dream, stretching it out for as long as he could.

Damen’s neck felt stiff, probably due to sleeping in one position for too long. He stretched it out, his arms soon following, feeling his muscles distending and releasing tension. Damen felt like a cat, lazily stretching under the sun, waiting for someone walking by to pet it or to feed it.

“Comfortable?”

Damen finally opened his eyes, momentarily confused as to why he couldn’t spot Laurent straight away: he was sitting on the ground, his back to the bed.

Damen crawled over to him, placing a kiss in the crown of Laurent’s head. “Are you?”

Laurent didn’t reply to him, busy reading the book in his hands. Damen sighed.

He moved to the side, resting his head on his hand, letting his eyes stare at Laurent’s profile all they wanted. Damen could never get enough of him.

“Is the ground more comfortable than the bed?” Damen tried again.

“I was eating,” Laurent flipped a page from his book, not bothering to look at Damen again.

At Damen’s silence, Laurent nudged his head towards the half-eaten plate of food on the ground, next to him. “Didn’t want to get crumbs all over the sheets.”

Accepting that, Damen joined Laurent on the ground, sitting next to him, their shoulders touching. He reached for the rest of the bread on the plate, taking it apart in small pieces and eating them.

Without skipping a beat, Laurent started reading to him. Today, he had chosen a book about the ancient Akielon art of statue-making. Damen didn’t know how Laurent found subjects like these interesting - they certainly bored him beyond oblivion - but he liked that about Laurent. He was curious about everything.

Damen was more listening to Laurent’s voice than to what he said, so it came as no surprise when Laurent had to repeat his name a couple of times to break Damen’s stupor.

“Yes?”

Laurent looked at him, amused. “I said I’m going to take a bath.”

Damen raised an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation or a statement?”

At that, Laurent got up,  sparing Damen one indecipherable look before walking away.

Unlike Veretian fashion, Marlas didn’t have a big, luxurious bathing room with heated and perfumed water like the palace in Arles. Instead, due to the minute size of the fortress, the King and Queen’s rooms were connected by a private bath, and another communal one was built for the servants and guardsmen.

Damen followed Laurent into the bath, already feeling a hunger rising in the pit of his abdomen.

The room had a honeyed, citrusy smell, likely from all the soaps and oils lined up in trays, all in reaching distance from the water. The bath itself was built into the ground, fashioned to seem like a spring of sweet water.

Laurent dropped the simple chiton he had donned for the night, letting it fall to his ankles. He stepped out of it, and into the steaming water, letting out a small noise of content.

Damen followed him, having nothing to discard, since he had slept in the nude. It was too warm for anything else.

He sat on the edge, the water rising just below his chest. Laurent went deeper, folding himself until just his head was above the surface. They stayed like that for a while, in silence, enjoying the calm lull of the warm water.

Damen reached for a soap, dipping it into the water before lathering himself with it. It gave off an orange blossom smell that was very easy on the nose. He bent forward, closing his eyes and holding his breath, dunking his head into the water. When he came back up, Laurent was in front of him.

Wordlessly, Laurent reached for the orange blossom soap, gathering lather in his hands, before massaging it into Damen’s scalp. Once he was done, Laurent gave him space to dip his head underwater, rising out the soap.

With water running down his face, Damen motioned for the soap, intending to return the favour. Laurent reached behind him, and handed Damen a different bar of soap. This one smelled of lemons and honey.

Laurent went to the deeper end of the bath, where the water fell just past his belly button. Damen went to him, bar of soap in hand. They’d been here before. Except, this time Damen was here of his own free will. Except, this time Laurent was warm and relaxed, as opposed to cold and tightly drawn.

He pooled water into his cupped hands, washing away the soap from Laurent’s chest. Damen devoted his attention to Laurent’s hair now, carefully rubbing in the lather, imbuing the soft but crisp smell in the golden locks. Under his watchful gaze, Laurent relaxed even further, closing his eyes and becoming as pliant as wet sand. The contrast from the Laurent in the baths in Arles and the Laurent now had never been so abysmal.

When Damen was done, and Laurent’s head was filled with white foam, he gave a small peck to Laurent’s nose, not resisting the temptation. Laurent smiled at him, moving away to douse himself.

Wanting to soak a bit longer, Damen went to sit on his previous spot, letting the warmness of the water work its way into his skin. He felt rather than saw Laurent’s return, the water sloshing around just slightly, but enough to give him away. He sat next to Damen.

“You smell nice,” Laurent said.

“So do you.” Damen put his arm around Laurent’s shoulders. 

Laurent leaned into him, his hand coming to grab Damen’s gold-encased wrist. He looked at it.

“This is all scratched,” Laurent observed. “You should take it off later, I will give it to a blacksmith for polishing.”

“Alright,” Damen agreed. Then, he asked, “Any plans for today?”

Laurent looked at him, “I thought a day in bed would be nice. Do you not want that?”

Damen kissed Laurent on the shoulder. “I do.”

“Good. We could eat in the gardens, though,” he spared a glance at Damen. Seeing no objections, he added, “I’ll tell a guard.”

“Now?”

A moment. “No,” Laurent leaned back into Damen’s arm, “not now.”

They relaxed into the water, Damen more effortlessly than Laurent. Sometimes, it seemed that Laurent resisted to release the tension he always held inside.  He always needed to have something on his plate, something to keep him busy and moving. Residual habit from growing up in a Veretian court; always having to watch his own back as well as others, needing to always think seven, eight steps ahead about everything. Damen could see why it was hard for Laurent to relax.

It didn’t help that men like Makon kept defying the new rules they had set. They said no more slavery; black markets rose up in most big cities. They said Akielos and Vere were uniting; traditionalists blocked their efforts at every turn. There was always something to fix, something to prevent. Damen being bedridden right after the Regent had been executed and Kastor buried only made things worse. Laurent was suddenly in charge of two broken kingdoms, both filled with confused and angry people, demanding answers. He had handled it well - this was Laurent after all - but it had taken a toll on him. Damen knew he had spent days on end with little to no sleep.

Damen wanted to make sure Laurent got his rest, even if he had to handcuff him to a bed.

For now, Laurent seemed happy and at ease. He was leaning into Damen, his head tilting more and more towards Damen’s shoulder, until it came to rest there. Damen kissed him on the crown of his head, straining his neck slightly to do so.

Damen liked to hold Laurent like this; it felt so intimate and right, like Damen’s arms had been made to encompass Laurent. They hadn’t had the chance for a moment like this in a while, and Damen wasn’t sure they would again in the near future. There was still a lot to be done to stabilise both of their kingdoms, not to even mention merging them together. New currency had to be made, possibly a new language, new rules and laws, just to name a few. All of this would already be hard enough with no opponents, but of course there was no shortage of those that hated what Damen and Laurent were doing. In some houses, their names were uttered with as much disgust as one would use when speaking of a rapist or a murderer. Damen was confident this would change in time. If anyone can change old habits and set minds, it’s Laurent. Damen was proof.

“Someone’s deep in thought,” Laurent’s voice seeped in, calling him back to the baths.  

Damen rested his cheek against Laurent’s head. “Just thinking about what is ahead.”

Laurent hummed, “A world of trouble.” He reached for Damen’s hand.

“Certainly good things as well?”

“You don’t seem so sure of that yourself,” Laurent laughed.

Damen turned over his hand so Laurent could trace the lines in his palm.

“We get to create a legacy of our own,” he offered. “We get to live. We get to be together.”

Laurent was quiet. Then, softly, “Doesn’t feel real.”

Damen brought Laurent’s hands to his lips.

“Despite all odds, we ended up being fortunate,” Damen said. “Who knew.”

“Who knew,” Laurent repeated, humour in his voice. “Not my young self, that’s for sure.”

Damen could sympathise: this wasn’t exactly how he had envisioned his adult life as a child. Both his father and Kastor were missing from the picture, and Laurent was definitely an unforeseen addition. But that’s how life works, with crooked paths and twisted turns. Who’s to tell what will happen next.

“Makes me wonder how life will be for our children.”

Laurent tensed up against his torso.

“Our,” a pause, “children.” The last word came out almost as a question, as if he hadn’t heard it quite right and wanted to make sure.

“We need heirs, Laurent.” Damen didn’t want to discuss this now, but for all their careful plans and thought-out arrangements, they had been skirting around this crucial point. This was a conversation they needed to have, and Damen would rather have it now than not at all.

Laurent remained silent, but Damen could read him as well as words on paper. The way his shoulders bunched up told him:  _ I don’t want to share you _ . The way he held himself, as tightly wound up as a ball of wool, told him:  _ My line dies with me _ . The look in Laurent’s eyes, it told him:  _ I’m scared _ .

“Laurent,” Damen called, his voice as gentle as his hands. “Laurent, look at me.”

In that moment, Damen could only imagine the violent clash going on in Laurent’s mind. Laurent’s unrelenting need to protect, to shelter, to provide a better life to those he cares for, against Laurent’s self-doubt, the fear that he can only tarnish and destroy those around him. The idea of caring for a child, for children, it frightened him and excited him at the same time. Laurent wasn’t used to being so ambiguous; it left him frayed and rattled. Damen couldn’t possibly know how that felt like - it wasn’t his place - but he could make the effort to understand. So Damen waited until those blue eyes met his, until Laurent felt like the ground had stopped shaking beneath his feet.

“We do not need to figure this out now,” Damen started, his voice steadier than he felt, “but we do need to start talking about it. Someone will soon use it against us, spin it around as proof that we have no idea what we’re doing. Frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

Laurent nodded his head an inch, agreeing. Damen squeezed his hand.

“And how,” Laurent cleared his throat, “are you planning to produce an heir.” Laurent’s voice was toneless, his lips drawn into a compressed line.

Laurent’s question threw Damen out of balance. He hadn’t thought about it.

“There are hundreds of parentless children in both Vere and Akielos; I’m sure we can find some that would like to live with us?” Damen suggested, his mind searching for more ideas. “Or we could negotiate with families that cannot provide for their children?”

Damen didn’t miss the small burst of something in Laurent’s eyes; it almost felt like surprise.

“You,” Laurent started, “don’t want to have a child of your own?” The question was softly-spoken, almost in disbelief.

Damen realised now what he hadn’t before. The added element to Laurent’s inner conflict: the prospect of Damen having a child with another. He remembered nights in front of fireplaces and oiled up bodies. Perhaps Damen had already left a child somewhere in Vask, but he was a different man now. His body could not go against his heart ever again.

“I do,” Damen brought Laurent’s hand to his lips, “with you. I do not care if the child is my own blood.”

A moment passed where Laurent just looked at him, the perfumed air around them filled with unsaid words. Then, with a voice as clear as the water of their bath, Laurent spoke.

“All right.”

The grin that took over Damen’s face was so wide, it felt like his cheeks were in danger of splitting. Laurent allowed himself a small smile as well, his hands still in Damen’s.

Damen couldn’t help himself.

“Is asking you about a marriage pushing it, right now?” He said, with a playful half-smile on his lips. 

An earthy laugh rose from Damen’s stomach at Laurent’s reaction, at the shock followed by a feigned annoyance, masquerading a laugh Damen knew was bubbling to come out.

“I don’t know,” Laurent said, his voice somewhat shaky. “Are there still riots in Dice and Lys? Is the centre stable? Have we solved how to bring together two, very different royal courts, without it resulting in mass murder?”

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’,” Damen joked, laughing once again as Laurent rolled his eyes at him.

“You’re insufferable,” Laurent rose, droplets of water cascading down his body. He left Damen, disappearing back into the chamber.

Damen followed, taking his time towelling himself dry. By the time Damen entered the bedchamber, Laurent was already fully dressed, the only evidence of him having just stepped out of a bath his damp hair. It fell in alluring, golden waves, framing his face perfectly. Damen walked up to him. Laurent watched him come, an eyebrow raised.

“I like you with your hair like this,” Damen grabbed a wet strand, twirling it between his fingers.

“I like you with your clothes on.” Laurent pointedly stared at his face. “So hurry up and get dressed. I already told the guard to inform the cooks.”

“What if I go like this,” Damen inched in, towering over Laurent. 

“Be my guest,” Laurent turned away from him, heading to the door. “But if you feel any ants crawl in places they shouldn’t, I will not help.”

With that over-the-shoulder remark, Laurent left the room, leaving Damen to throw on a garment and rush after him, a huge smile plastered on his face.

 

*

 

As a child, Damen never liked attending his father’s assemblages with the kyroi and other significant figures. He knew they were important, and that he stood to learn a lot from them, but they were boring and lasted for endless hours. Damen didn’t understand why he was forced to sit in a chair and be quiet for hours, whilst his older brother got to train his swordsmanship and play. 

Now that he was King, they were even more dull and dragged-out than before. Damen tried his best to stay alert and attentive, still he often found himself pitching his leg under the table to keep the drowsiness at bay. Of course, across the room, Laurent looked fresh and awake, expertly handling all the strong personalities in the room. Not a hint of dark circles under his eyes, even though Damen knew for a fact how little sleep he had been getting lately. Damen often woke up in the middle of the night, only to find Laurent scribbling away at his desk, the sound of nib against paper filling the air. In any of those times, Damen hadn’t asked what Laurent was writing, figuring if it was something important, Laurent would let him know. It still left him curious.

Right now, even as several Veretian lords and ladies, as well as Akielon kyroi, trickled out of the room, Laurent was still bent in conversation with Makedon. They were too far away for Damen to make out the topic that made the old general gesture that wildly. Though, not too far way that Damen couldn’t see a glint in Laurent’s eyes, clearing enjoying the heated debate. Laurent found in Makedon a companionship that he hadn’t ever allowed himself - a soldier-to-soldier comradery that was so effortless and simple for most people, but groundbreaking to him. It made Damen smile; seeing the firm, almost fatherly grasp Makedon had on Laurent’s shoulder.

“Staring,” said a voice next to him. 

“What?” Damen asked, his eyes returning from across the room to land on Nikandros, sitting on his left.

“You’ve been staring at him the whole morning,” Nikandros repeated; and then added, almost as a reprimand, “ _ Exalted _ .”

Damen felt his cheeks warm slightly. He also felt grateful for his dark complexion, masquerading the tell of his embarrassment. 

“Can you blame me,” he replied, his eyes once again following Laurent, that was currently escorting Makedon out of the room.

“No,” Nikandros’ voice was exasperated, but not without an undertone of amusement. “But others might.”

Damen sighed, already tired of the course the conversation was taking. He knew that he probably stared at Laurent a little too much, but he still had a pair of functioning ears. He could multitask. Nikandros, and several others, always acted like he was a lovestruck idiot. They forgot he was a King in his own right.

“True,” Laurent announced himself, taking the vacant seat to Damen’s right, placing his hand in Damen’s lap for him to take. “But since when does Damen care about what others say of him?”

Damen smiled at that, lacing his fingers with Laurent’s. He didn’t have to glance at Nikandros to see the resignated look on his face; Damen knew him well enough to be able to picture it in his head perfectly. That, and the arms-crossed position he had most certainly adopted.

“Do you need me, or can I be dismissed, your Highnesses,” Nikandros asked, sounding like he always did when Laurent was in the room. 

“Actually,” Laurent started, “I wanted to discuss a precarious situation with you two.”

“Dice?” Damen asked, casually placing his hand on Laurent’s thigh. 

The small province’s economy took a heavy toll when Damen had abolished slavery, so slavers had taken to smuggle kidnapped youths across the border into Patras. It was a crisis not even Laurent had come up with a solution to.

“No,” Laurent responded, “Vask.”

“Vask?” Damen’s confusion was not mirrored in Nikandros, who remained uncharacteristically quiet.

“A messenger arrived from Acquitart yesterday,” Laurent said. “The mountain tribes are raiding again.”

Damen nodded, “What do you propose?”

Laurent glanced briefly at Nikandros, so fast, Damen almost thought he had imagined it.

“We pay Halvik a visit again,” Laurent replied. “Bring her gifts, strike another deal. We’ll have to go alone, of course.”

Even though Damen wholeheartedly trusted Laurent’s judgement, the idea of the two Kings travelling by themselves, not even a week after Laurent’s Ascension, sounded wrong and borderline foolish. He had expected Nikandros to loudly object, but he hadn’t said a word since Laurent had sat with them.

As if on cue, Nikandros pipped in, his voice more devoid of emotion than usual.

“If it’s necessary.” At Damen’s incredulous look, he added, “Delpha is secure. If you go in disguise and stay off roads, you should get to the mountains unrecognised.” 

“I don’t know,” Damen looked back at Laurent. “Are you sure we can’t just send an envoy? This hardly sounds like a priority.”

“Halvik doesn’t trust envoys,” Laurent smoothly responded. “Until we come up with a strategy, there’s nothing we can do about the smugglers. The raids are something we can solve immediately.”

Damen glanced at Nikandros again, waiting for his input. When he got nothing but a shrug of shoulders, Damen was convinced Nikandros had gotten up on the wrong side of bed, and should be given the rest of the day off. 

Although Laurent’s logic made sense - as it always did -, Damen felt unsure about the situation. Both of them still hadn’t gotten a firm grasp on their thrones, and Laurent was already proposing to leave them unattended. Again. It didn’t sit well with Damen, but he trusted Laurent.

“Alright,” he said.

“Perfect,” Laurent got up. “We leave at dusk.”

 

*

 

As he walked down to the stables, Damen had many questions on his mind. Like why did they have to sneak into Vask, instead of making it an official royal visit. Like how Laurent was going to cover up their prolonged absence, shortly after his own Ascension. The ride to Acquitart was not a short one, and they still had at least a day’s worth of travelling beyond that. Damen figured he could just ask.

The stables were empty, except for one person. Laurent stood next to his horse, fastening the straps the held the saddle in place. Damen’s mare had already been saddled for him, and she stood patiently in her stall, blinking in lieu of hello when Damen reached to pet her. 

Stroking her mane, Damen double-checked the straps and knots, making sure everything would stick together and not fall off during the ride. He didn’t have to open the ration bags attached to her saddle to find them oddly light. Looking at Laurent’s horse, Damen could see she was packed in the same way as his own horse. They definitely did not have enough supplies for the journey to Acquitart. 

Damen approached Laurent, intending to ask all the questions that currently populated his mind. 

“Is this all we are taking?” He asked.

“We will stop at Fortaine,” Laurent answered, giving a pat on his horse’s neck.

“And after?” With his arms crossed, Damen watched Laurent gently coax the horse into its reins.

“Ravenel and Acquitart.”

This confused him. “Are we not hiding?” Damen asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Laurent looked at him, a smile on his lips, as he said, “There’s no need.” Then, using the stirrup as leverage, he hoisted himself onto the mare in one elegant motion.

Nudging his mare, Laurent made it to the stable’s doorway before noticing Damen still hadn’t moved.

Seeing Damen’s expression, Laurent added, “I will explain on the way. We have to reach Fortaine before dawn.”

“Insufferable,” Damen muttered, mounting his horse all the same. 

Laurent was waiting outside for him, a huge grin on his lips.

“I’ll race you,” he said, seconds before he took off, not bothering to wait for Damen.

Damen blinked a couple of times, caught by surprise. But soon enough, his smile mirrored the Veretian King’s, and he was chasing Laurent.

 

*

 

It was hours past midnight when Laurent and Damen had finally stumbled into Fortaine. The fortress’ constable had come to greet them, a lantern in one hand and a walking stick in the other. Damen remembered feeling bad for prying the old lady from her bed that late. To appease his own mind, Damen had stayed behind after dinner, humoring the old constable by hearing her stories. Laurent had excused himself.

Now, with the sun barely peaking over the horizon, they were saddling their horses once again, this time headed to Ravenel. Laurent assured him they didn’t have to trade their mares for fresher ones, despite the long road ahead of them. These horses had been bred for resistance and long travels at quick speeds, Laurent had told him. Laurent had also enlightened him on why the old constable had been expecting them: Laurent had sent word. The border fortresses were all to receive personal visits from the Kings, for inspection of their condition. There was no reason to disguise their travels; they were hiding in plain sight.

Once they were properly mounted, Damen realised that a small committee had formed around them. The old constable was holding the hand of a small boy, and a number of other servants had gathered around, eager to see their Kings. Damen supposed this was the current household of the fort, the minute number of arms due to the new peace. There is no need for armed fortresses guarding the border, now that Akielos and Vere are allies. Every fort had been reduced to its skeleton structure.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Laurent said as he adjusted the reins of his horse.

The courtyard bowed for them, their heads lowered. 

“May the road be clear of trouble and the journey swift, Your Highnesses,” the aging lady wished.

And off to the road they went.

 

*

 

“We should camp here for the night,” Damen said, breaking the easy silence they had going on for hours.

Laurent nodded, after surveying the place. There was no forest to hide in, but there were rocks that piled up just high enough to hide both their horses and them from a curious eye. And there was plenty of grass for the mares.

They dismounted, setting about to make preparations for the night. The terrain was bare of trees, so Laurent had to search for dried up shrubs and scattered branches. Damen busied himself with seeing to the horses, and divvying up the food between the two of them. It was an easy job, since the pace Laurent was setting for them would allow them to reach Ravenel before nightfall of the next day. They could eat comfortably; they had more than enough food.

The fire was lit, after what felt like hours of patiently coaxing the small kindling that refused to catch on. They were warm and fed, the horses quietly grazing behind them. There was not a single cloud in the sky to obscure the beauty of the stars. 

Damen was playing with his last piece of bread, crumbling it into tinier and tinier pieces. Laurent was stirring the hot embers with a branch, watching them crackle under the flames. In the distance, crickets were filling the air with their melody.

“Peaceful,” Damen said into the night.

“It is,” Laurent nodded. “I like it.”

Damen agreed, having always appreciated Akielon summer nights. Even if they technically were in southern Vere. The border line wasn’t exactly delineated. Not that it mattered anyway, soon there would be no border at all.

The moon was out in full that night, lifting the darkness around them and allowing them to see, even without the fireplace.

“My mother loved the stars.”

Damen looked at Laurent. He had dropped the stick, and was now looking up, his pale skin almost reflecting the moonlight. 

“She used to wake me up in the middle of the night when the skies were clear,” Laurent’s voice was light, and Damen could hear the smile on his lips. “She’d point out all these constellations and tell me their stories.”

Damen kicked dirt onto the fireplace as he rose. It was warm enough that they didn’t need it. Damen went to Laurent, waiting for him to make Damen some space on the blanket before sitting down. They huddled together, more for comfort than for warmth: Damen’s arm around Laurent’s waist, and Laurent’s head finding its perch on Damen’s shoulder.

“Do you still remember them?” Damen asked.

Promptly, Laurent pointed to the sky, to a small speck rendered meaningless amongst the whole starry night.

“Do you see those three in a row?” Laurent waited for Damen to nod, then continued, “That’s her waist. Up,” Laurent moved his hand, “is her head - that big, bright star. Then, if you follow that line down,” his finger trailed a path, slowly, so Damen could follow, “there’s her legs, like she’s running, do you see it?”

“Yes,” Damen whispered, feeling like the magic of the moment would break if he spoke any louder.

“Next to her, that’s her spear,” Laurent pointed, his hand going up and down. “Up north, on a very clear night, you can see her shield.”

Damen took it all in, his eyes squinting in the darkness to better make out the figure. 

“Who is she?” He asked.

“Some say it’s Queen Yseult,” Laurent answered. “The one that ordered all the bastards in Arles to be executed.”

Damen’s fingers had taken to travel up and down along Laurent’s waist, caressing him atop his jacket.

“What do you say?”

“I say what my mother said. That this is a warrior from long before, more ancient than Vere itself. That the passage of time stole her name, her identity, and her history.” It was a moment before Laurent continued, “We used to give her names, a new one for every night. Atalanta, Ilione, Helene.”

Damen could hear the nostalgia in Laurent’s voice, the memory clearly a treasured one. That summer night wasn’t cold, but if it was, Damen felt like he could be warmed by the smile Laurent had on his face alone. It was as gentle and precious as the dim glow of the stars above them.

“Do you think, in time,” Damen said, “someone will shape constellations after us?” 

“We are bringing two kingdoms together,” Laurent detached himself from Damen, looking into his poorly-lit face. “They better.”

Damen grinned, imagining the prospect: a future where his and Laurent’s love was immortalized in the skies, for everyone to see. It felt right.

Laurent caressed his face, his fingers gliding along Damen’s chin, tilting his head down for a small kiss. 

“We should sleep,” Laurent whispered against his lips.

Humming, Damen leaned forward, stealing one more kiss, and then another and another. Laurent was soon smiling and then laughing, and in that moment, Damen could swear that Laurent’s laugh was his favourite sound in the world.

 

*

 

The sun was dead centre in the sky when they arrived to Ravenel, their mares tired and sweaty underneath them. It was an unusually hot day, the air heavy and humid, making Damen’s clothes stick uncomfortably against his skin. Laurent, of course, looked fresh and beautiful, as if he hadn’t just ridden a whole morning in a crushing heat, but rather spent it eating grapes by the side of a pool.

They didn’t stick around for pleasantries, both eager for a quick bath. After refreshing themselves, they had a light meal, after which Laurent excused himself, claiming he had to keep up the inspection farce with Ravenel’s constable. Damen was free to roam around and entertain himself for the afternoon. 

It hadn’t been too long since Damen last walked through these corridors - although it felt like a lifetime ago - so he still knew his way around. Like Fortaine, Ravenel felt abandoned, the only sign that people still roamed the halls the lack of dust and the polish of the candelabres. 

He found himself following worn steps into the deserted battlements, a path he had taken many times before. Damen stood on the edge of a once impregnable fort, his hands on the cobbled stone as he gazed into the horizon. It was impossible to not let himself be swept up by nostalgia. He had stood here before, side by side with Laurent, basking on the glory of an impossible win. This is where they had kissed for the first time. Where he had reached for Laurent, both of their hearts racing, both of them stretched thin with tension. Where they both lied to have one night together. 

Damen had thought then that that kiss they shared was the one true thing between them. The only wall that if you stood against, it wouldn’t collapse. Now, he realised, that was a half-truth. The feelings they nurtured had been real and as present as their bodies, no doubt, but as much as they pretended, it was as if Auguste was right there between them, prying them apart. They were lies to each other; and to themselves, in a way. That kiss, it wasn’t a wall, it was a brick castle built on quicksand. 

Now, only a few short months after, their kisses were as true as the rising sun and the love between them. What they had done to each other hadn’t been forgotten, but it had been forgiven. 

Running his hand through the hard stone, Damen couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Ever since Laurent’s Ascension, he had been filled with nostalgia, comparing every moment to his past and revelling in the growth. He had always been far too sentimental for his own good. But still, despite all the hardship and the pain, all the lying and pretending, Laurent and him had prevailed. Standing here, on top of this fort they had won together, Damen looked forward to his future. 

Lost in his thoughts as he was, Damen lost track of time, staring out at the green fields before him. He didn’t notice the boy that had suddenly appeared at his side.

“Exalted,” the boy bowed. “Your Highness, King Laurent, is requesting your presence for dinner.”

Damen furrowed his brows at the young boy, who must have been no older than eleven. The sun hadn’t even begun setting, and Laurent wanted to have dinner already? 

It was odd, but nonetheless Damen nodded, heading down the stairs, the boy trailing behind him. He made to turn right, taking the corridor that lead to the dining hall, but the freckled boy spoke up.

“Forgive me, Exalted,” he bowed his head, “but Your Highness took the liberty to order food to be brought to the royal chambers.”

Damen stopped in his tracks, looking at the young boy. “He did?”

The freckled boy nodded, his head still bowed down, staring at his own feet. By his shy mannerisms, Damen could tell the boy had been trained to be a slave, his position changed to an errand boy after the abolishment.

“Thank you,” Damen patted him on his head, “I know my way.”

Damen walked away, leaving the small boy behind, still with his head bowed down. Damen walked towards his and Laurent’s chambers, chalking Laurent’s unusual request up to the good mood that had taken over him the last couple of days. Damen wasn’t complaining, but Laurent had been remarkably amiable lately. Not just with him, even Nikandros had noticed. It made Damen happy to see Laurent this easy-going, so he hadn’t asked the reason for it.

Crossing a corner, he reached the corridor that led up to the King’s bedchambers. Immediately, he noticed the different shades of petals on the ground, in orange, red and yellow. Stepping closer, Damen saw they belonged to roses, filling the corridor with a sweet aroma. Arching his eyebrow, he pushed open the door to their room.

First, he noticed the candles. There were dozens of them, covering almost every surface available, and several laying on the floor. Then, the petals: more of them were sprayed here and there, lending the room an even more intimate atmosphere. With his hand still on the door, Damen surveyed the room, his eyes wide open and his mouth slightly open in amazement.

That’s when he noticed Laurent, halfway across the room, leaning against the doorway that led to the veranda. Laurent stood there, with a casual, arms-crossed stance and a cool look in his eyes that did not match with the redness of his cheeks. They looked at each other.

“Close the door behind you, would you?” Laurent’s voice might have sounded nonchalant to most, but Damen’s practiced ears picked up on the subtleties: there was nervousness there. Some timidness too, perhaps.

Still dumbfounded, Damen closed the door behind him slowly, looking back and forth between the candlelit, petal-filled room and Laurent, as if the two could not coexist.

Damen cleared his throat, aware that he still hadn’t said anything. “What’s this?” He asked.

“A romantic dinner,” Laurent said, a small smile on his lips.

Damen stood there, blinking, his mind drawing blank.

With a small laugh, Laurent motioned for Damen, asking him to step closer. Damen complied, accepting the other’s hand. Behind Laurent, the dusk had arrived, casting an orange glow into the room. Laurent looked like he had a halo around his golden head. Damen’s was reminded of those epics he so liked, sung by beautiful men and beautiful women. Laurent had always looked like he belonged in an old tale, but now, with his dark-blue eyes, the flush of his delicate cheeks, and the intimate haziness that surrounded them, he was the handsome hero celebrated in a thousand songs.  _ The world was not made for beauty like his _ . And Damen couldn’t stop staring.

Laurent tugged at his hand, carrying Damen out onto the balcony, where a blanket had been spread out, with wine, bread and other delicacies as well as more candles laid out next to it. Damen’s mind was still failing him.

Laurent noticed him staring. “Ravenel doesn’t have a garden,” he brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face, his eyes not meeting Damen’s, “I improvised.”

Damen let himself be guided down, crossing his legs as he sat down and accepting the glass of wine Laurent poured him. He watched as Laurent took a sip of his.

“Cat got your tongue?” Laurent peeked at him over his glass.

Damen opened his mouth, only to close it again, not knowing what to say. Laurent let out a sound that Damen could only classify as a giggle. It was as uncharacteristic as it was lovable.

“I’m a bit lost,” Damen admitted, finally finding his voice.

Laurent laughed again, his eyes looking bright and alive. The last rays of sunshine lent him a healthy glow, as if with the dying sun, he was in charge of casting light onto the world.

“I wanted to do something special,” Laurent confessed, biting his lip slightly.

“For me?” Damen smiled, feeling like his heart was too big for his own chest.

Laurent nodded, “For you.”

Damen leaned forward, his free hand coming to hold Laurent’s face, locking their lips together for a prolonged, yet gentle kiss. They parted, both of them smiling.

Remembering his forgotten wine, Damen brought it to his lips, enjoying its richness. He felt himself melt in the way he always did with a glass of wine and good company.

Laurent offered him grapes, to which Damen simply opened his mouth, feeling playful. Narrowing his eyes, Laurent took aim, and sure enough, managed to get a grape safely inside Damen’s mouth. 

Soon, all the little plates and trays were emptied, the delicacies happily eaten, and the bottle of wine slowly sipped. Beyond their own private, little world, the sky changed hue, from gold, to orange to a faint purple; the only indication of the passage of time.

Suddenly, throwing back the rest of his wine, Laurent rose, telling Damen to wait there. He took enough time for Damen’s curiosity to run wild, but not enough for Damen to actually act on it. He had a small bag in his hands.

Laurent handed it to Damen. “Open it,” Laurent said, his eyes fixed on his own hands.

It was heavier than it looked, throwing him off a bit. Damen fumbled with the velvety fabric a bit before being able to loosen the cords that kept the bag closed. Inside, to his surprise, were their golden cuffs. Ever so carefully, Damen took them out, putting the bag down after. He remembered Laurent had offered to bring Damen’s cuff to a blacksmith for polishing; maybe he had taken his own as well. 

Confused, Damen was about to say thank you when he noticed something that was not quite right. Both the cuffs hadn’t changed in shape - Laurent’s being slightly smaller than Damen’s to accommodate his thinner wrist - but they had been smooth before. Now, they had faint indentations on the surface. Bringing his cuff closer for inspection, Damen could see fine etchings, that altogether formed fluid lines and wave-like shapes. In the centre of it all, was Laurent’s crest. Rapidly, Damen held up Laurent’s cuff, noting that it was identical to Damen’s, save for the lion sigil carved, instead of the starburst.

Damen stared at both cuffs in his hands for a while, admiring the exquisite craftsmanship with a sense of awe. He lifted his eyes to Laurent, who smiled sheepishly at Damen.

“You had these made?” Damen asked, feeling the small engravings with his fingers.

“Yes,” Laurent’s voice was uncharacteristically tiny. “I’ve been toying with the idea for a while.”

Damen slipped the gold onto his wrist - a smug fit as always. He couldn’t stop staring at it, shifting it from side to side so he could view it from all angles.

Laurent continued, “I had discussed a different design with the artisan, but after what you said in the baths back at Marlas, I decided to...” A pause, “do this sooner. Despite being rushed, she still did a fine job, I think.”

Still dumbfounded, Damen watched as Laurent reached for his own cuff, sliding it on his own wrist. It took him a while to regain his speech. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” Damen finally said, frowning his eyebrows.

Silent, Laurent grabbed Damen’s right hand, pulling it towards him. His gaze would not meet Damen’s as he sweeped over the small golden starburst with his thumb. 

“I know you were just joking at the time,” Laurent spoke, his hands still around Damen’s, “or just passing it off as a joke. But I thought about it.” Laurent’s eyes met his; they were darkened and serious. “About marrying you.”

Taken aback, Damen was silent for a while; his throat feeling dry like a desert and his eyes not being able to leave Laurent’s. Then, “And?” 

“And,” Laurent started, his eyes breaking contact, “I already plan to spend the rest of my life with you. No harm in making it official.”

Chaos erupted in Damen’s mind; he felt like the ground had been swept from underneath him. Everything was muffled but the warmness of Laurent’s hands against his, and the contrasting cold of the starburst cuff. He couldn’t find his tongue.

“I thought for now this could do,” Laurent’s voice was soft. “In the future, we can have a grand ceremony, if you’d like.” 

Damen looked up from their joined hands to Laurent’s eyes. The scene was starting to sink in; his heart rate escalating. Laurent was marrying him. Damen had always thought they would eventually end up married, but as a political convenience, as a way to bind their names and solidify their rule. He hadn’t expected this. For Laurent to go so out of his way for him. For Laurent to choose him, forever.  

It was like the whole world was under Damen’s skin, threatening to burst out at any moment. He felt his eyes watering as he looked at the man in front of him. The man he loved with all his heart. He gripped Laurent’s hand tighter, leaning closer.

“Thank you,” his voice was overrun with all that Damen was feeling.

Laurent caressed his cheek, his touch electrifying against Damen’s skin.

“No,” he said, “thank you.”

“For what?”

Laurent smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with happiness. 

“For being here with me. For staying,” just then, Laurent’s eyes mirrored the dark hue of the twilight sky above them. “For coming.”

Damen leaned in, his hand coming to cup the base of Laurent’s neck, pulling him closer. Kissing Laurent never ceased to feel like a novelty. Damen was never ready for the effects it had on his body, and on his mind. It was like Laurent’s lips were able to break him down, and reshape him into something entirely different. It was exhilarating.

 

Breaking apart for air, Damen pressed his forehead to Laurent’s, a huge grin taking over his lips. He chuckled to himself, feeling like his heart was overflowing with warmth.

“I can’t believe you did all this just to marry me in secret.”

Laurent laughed with him, leaning back to look into his eyes. 

“It was worth it.”

Damen didn’t think he’d ever seen Laurent smile this widely and openly. He lurched forward again, meeting Laurent’s deliciously rosy lips with his own. Laurent laughed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Damen’s neck.

Placing several small pecks on Laurent’s mouth, Damen whispered, a big smile on his face, “Does this mean I get to call you my husband now?”

Laurent laughed against Damen’s lips, a sound so deliriously happy, it could cure all the hurt in the world.

“Please promise me you’ll be discreet about this,” Laurent’s voice was raspy and amused.

Damen stared at the still laughing Laurent, feeling nothing but pure love for the man he was holding in his arms. This is how he wanted to spend the rest of his life, with Laurent in his arms and his heart soaring. Damen smiled.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, every comment and kudo and bookmark goes a really long way! I appreciate all of them!!  
> Feel free to contact me on my [tumblr](http://andrewnminyard.tumblr.com), if you'd like!  
> Thank you for reading!


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